A Little British Invasion
by WildClover27
Summary: The Sgt/Major moves into the Mansion. A different take on the relationship between him and the men in the beginning. My thanks to Dart53 for giving him a name. He didn't have one in the show and a lot of us have simply used the name she gave him.
1. Chapter 1

British Invasion

Chapter 1

Lt. Craig Garrison glanced beyond the ashtray full of neatly stacked cigarette butts at the small metal clock on his cluttered desk for the tenth or eleventh time this past hour. Why was it when you wanted time to pass quickly it took forever for the minute hand to move, but when you wished it would take forever it flashed by? It was almost 5 pm. The major change in their unique little world at the Mansion would arrive at any minute. The transport vehicle was probably sitting at the road; the occupants watching the time as he was so they would arrive at the door precisely on the hour.

He deliberately had not informed his men of the change about to take place. Craig was unhappy with it as it was, but the men would have a fit when they found out and he was not up for the complaints and yelling that would have accompanied his news. The maid's quarters behind the kitchen had been cleared of supplies and neatened up while the men were spending time at the Doves, getting into the usual fights. They rarely went to the supply room; that was Terry's domain; so they did not know anything had been done.

Terry. That was another one he was not looking forward to. She was somewhere on the Continent with who knew what group. Hopefully, she would return while they were here. This was not something he wanted sprung on her. She was almost as volatile as the men when her territory was invaded.

No, this was not going to be a smooth transition. Even more so in that Garrison did not know the real reason for this change. Furthering relations between the Americans and their host country? No, there had to be something else. Maybe not. Maybe he was learning distrust and skepticism from his men.

The minute hand hit the twelve on the clock just as Chief called out there was a car coming. Garrison stood and went to the coat tree. He did not know why, but he put his uniform jacket on and his hat. After all, he was the senior officer. Arms crossed, Craig stood in the doorway. The men were giving him suspicious looks.

"Looks like a British soldier," reported Chief. "He's got a kit and they're just leavin' him here. The car's goin'."

Garrison looked at Goniff, the least intimidating of his men, and the one with a British accent . . . of sorts. "Let him in."

Goniff eyed the lieutenant warily as he went to the door and opened it at the first knock. The blond gamin man stood and stared at the crisply pressed British non-com with the broad smile on his thin-lipped mouth. The man looked past him at the American officer.

"Leftenant Garrison?" he asked.

"Sgt/Major Rawlins," said Garrison. "Goniff, let him in."

There was a heavy, suspicious silence from the common room as the Englishman entered, dropped his kit and snapped a sharp salute at the American. Garrison returned the salute, a bit less sharply.

"At ease, Sgt/Major," said Garrison.

He turned to his men. Goniff was sidling around behind the new man with a look of distrust on his face.

"Sergeant/Major Rawlins, this is Actor, Casino, Goniff, and Chief." He indicated each man in turn. "The Sgt/Maj will be joining us. He is here to act as my secretary and take over the training of you men and the household duties."

"What?" objected Casino loudly. "What for? We don't need anybody else to train us."

"If I may, Sir," interjected Rawlins. At Garrison's nod, he continued. "Allied Command thinks it will aid in smoothing the relations between we British and the soldiers from other countries who are stationed here."

Casino gave a snort. "The only Brits I'm interested in having a relationship with . . .," he eyed the beanpole man up and down, "ain't built like you."

This garnered grins and chuckles from the other three. Garrison had not expected the men's reactions to be any different. It was best the new man learned that from the start. It was going to be a real-ly long war.

"That will be enough, Casino. Sgt./Major step into my office and we will take care of the paperwork and what exactly your duties here will entail," said Garrison.

The British non-com continued to smile and followed his new American boss into the office he would be spending a lot of time in.

After the door closed, the four cons exchanged looks.

"Blimey," said Goniff. "Where'd they find 'im?"

"He ain't trainin' me," said Casino adamantly.

Chief got off his window perch and walked over to the table. "Didn't the Warden say somethin' about him takin' over the household duties?"

Three pair of eyes looked at him.

"Wot about Terry?" asked Goniff.

Actor tried to keep his voice unconcerned and matter-of-fact. "I am sure the Warden meant that would happen at times, like right now, when Teresa isn't here."

"Somebody better tell her that," said Chief, sticking a match between his teeth.

Garrison hung his hat and jacket back on the coat tree. "Have a seat, Rawlins," he said with a nod to the chair in front of his desk.

"Thank you, Sir," said the man chirpily.

Garrison took his seat and picked up the folder that contained the papers concerning the new man. Though he had read them enough times to be able to quote them, he perused them again to get a chance to study the man in front of him.

Sgt/Maj. Gilbert Rawlins of the British Army. It was not the Royal Army as the Navy and Air Force were called and this was due to the army being under the jurisdiction of Parliament and the other two forces were under the jurisdiction of the monarchy. It did not necessarily make sense to the American army officer, but it wasn't really his concern to begin with. The British man stayed stiff even at ease. He was probably by the book and very militarily minded. This was not the kind of group that worked well under that.

The man himself was thin to the point of skinny. He had a balding head beneath the cap that was currently across his knee. The eyes were sharp, if a little close together, above a nose that could only be called a beak. Thin lips kept a patent smile. The man did not fidget like Goniff, but remained stiff and still.

The man's dossier had been carefully edited by his superiors. What was missing was more interesting than what was there. He had been a group leader at some point, but was now a non-commissioned officer. Why? First impression was Rawlins would not have been involved in anything illegal. He might get an education from Garrison's men. The other option that came to mind, and not likely either, was as in Garrison's case, he had been demoted to work in the clandestine sector of the military. Craig still had his gold oak leaves hidden away and, surprisingly, they had not been found by his men. That bit of information had been carefully removed and disguised in his dossier. The only one of his men who might have noticed the omissions and inaccuracies would be Actor, but no mention had ever been made of it.

Craig removed papers and laid them on the far edge of his desk, facing the Rawlins. "If you will read and sign these," said Garrison, laying a pen atop them.

Rawlins stood and bent over the desk, quickly scanning the content of the two sheets. Without any questions, he signed on the two lines that had been marked. Resuming his seat, he waited expectantly while Garrison signed in his two places.

Craig leaned back in his chair and observed the man so see his reactions. "I assume you have been briefed about this group."

"Yes, Sir."

Craig would have to coax everything out of this man. "You were sent to us by Major Richards. Tell me what you were told about this group."

"Well, Sir. They are criminals from American prisons, recruited for the use of their illegal talents. This group was the prototype for similar groups working for the Allies and based here in England. The lads do not like to follow orders or rules."

"That's correct," said Garrison. "As for the rules, I don't make them follow them. If you can't find them they will either be at the Doves down the road, or in Brandonshire at the Blue Fox. If I am not here, just try to keep track of them." Craig hesitated before going on to the next subject. "The men are not the only ones who live here. My sister, Terry, works with this group, one of the other groups like this one, and with resistance and SOE." He didn't mention he didn't know even half of who she worked for or with. "She has high civilian clearance."

"Yes, Sir," said Rawlins. "Major Richards also told me about Miss Terry. She works mainly with the confidence man, Actor, and both of them have medical training."

"I understand you have had medical training also," said Garrison, feeling the man out.

"Yes, Leftenant, I know basic first aid and I can extract bullets and suture."

"That will probably come in handy at some point." Garrison hoped not. "Your clerical duties will be to type my reports, filing, and answering the phone. About training the men, we will set up a schedule. It will always be subject to change based on the frequency of and any problems with our missions."

All of this was acknowledged with bobbing of the head. Craig half expected the man to pull his forelock, if he had one. There was a bit of Cockney in the man's speech. This all left one more subject to be addressed.

"Major Richards mentioned you would be taking care of household chores," said Craig. "He was not specific in this. Just what do you expect to do?"

"Well, Leftenant," said Rawlins formally, "I can cook, wash dishes, keep the house neat and tidy, and do laundry."

Listening to the list, it sounded like a lot, but Garrison's sister managed the household and most of the typing and everything else except training the men. She took this as being her domain. No, Terry was not going to be happy. Of course if the man could cook, maybe their meals when the girl wasn't around would be better than Goniff's 'surprises.'

"Any questions, Sgt/Major?" asked Garrison.

"Not at the moment, Sir," said Rawlins.

"Then I will show you where your quarters are," said Craig. "We will orient you to the rest of the house in the morning. If you have any questions, you may ask me at any time."

Garrison rose and went to the door. Rawlins followed him out. The faces of the men around the gaming table were more suspicious than friendly.

"Hey, Warden? When's Sister comin' back."

Rawlins stopped and looked at the safecracker with the gangster voice. Casino was eyeing him back and the dark eyes were not friendly.

"I don't know, Casino," said Garrison. "I would guess when we see her she will be back." He wondered what the cracksman was thinking and decided it was probably along the lines of his thoughts. He turned back to the non con, "Get your kit and follow me. I will show you to your quarters."

Four pair of eyes burned holes in the lieutenant's back as he led the newcomer around the stairs and through the dining room.

"He has quarters already?" asked Chief to nobody in particular. The match stick moved agitatedly back and forth between his lips.

Actor's eyebrows rose. "Apparently the Lieutenant neglected to mention a few things to us."

Garrison led the new man to the old storage room. He had worked nights, while the men thought they were hiding the fact they had left via the cut bars on the upper common room window and scarpered to the Doves. He had dragged the pieces of a cot upstairs and into the room. It took him a couple days to find the hardware that Terry and Shiv had hidden when she had dismantled the common room living quarters and given each man a room. It probably wasn't a good idea to keep the British man on a cot when the others had beds, but he would cross that bridge in the future. Craig had found pieces of stored furniture, probably from the maid's room, that he added to give the new man a table and nightstand with lights and a cabinet that was converted into storage for clothes.

Rawlins looked around and placed his kit on the bed. If he had any misgivings about this room, he did not show them to the lieutenant. Instead, he turned around and addressed the American officer.

"Leftenant Garrison, I can start my duties at once. Have you and the lads had supper?"

"Not yet," replied Garrison. The sooner the man got into the routine, probably the better for all concerned. "Terry had notice this time and stocked the refrigerator with food. I'm sure you can find something to throw together."

"Right away, Sir," Rawlins said with a smile.

The man was sure cheerful. Garrison gave that a couple more hours. His men would see to breaking his demeanor. They went back into the kitchen. Garrison left when he was assured the British man could find everything he needed with no difficulty. It was with relief and a returned salute that Craig went back to his office.

As expected, the four cons immediately showed up at his door. Actor was the spokesman as usual.

"Did you forget to inform us of this change, _Leftenant_?" the con man asked with one of his patent insincere smiles.

Garrison shrugged. "It kept you from going AWOL."

" _Leftenant_ , would we do that?"

"In a heartbeat," added Casino sourly.

"How long's he stayin', Warden?" asked Chief, matchstick still shooting from side to side.

"I have not been given the answer to that," said Garrison, taking his seat.

"Where's 'e from?" It was Goniff's turn.

"Liverpool area," answered Craig. "Now, I still have work to do. He's making supper, so if you gentlemen will find something to occupy you, other than in this office, I would appreciate it." He looked down at his papers. When the men did not leave, he added. "And shut the door on your way out."

Seeing they were going to be ignored again, the men left. A grin crossed Garrison's face after the door closed. Craig had just lit a cigarette and found out where he had left off, when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter."

When were they going to give it a rest? But it wasn't the men, it was Rawlins, looking agitated.

"Yes, ?" Craig managed to keep the exasperation from his voice.

"Sir, I must protest," said Rawlins.

"About?"

"I looked in the refrigerator, Sir. Leftenant! Those are not army rations," he sputtered.

"No, they aren't," agreed Garrison leaning back in his chair.

Now the man was fidgeting as much as Goniff could. "But, Sir, that's . . . that's . . ."

"Black market, Mate!"

Rawlins head swiveled on his neck like an owl's between the door and the officer. "But . . . but . . ."

Garrison again had to stifle his amusement. "I'm sure you will be able to find something in there to make for dinner."

"Well, yes, Sir, but how do you afford to get food from the bleedin'Black Market? Uh, Sir."

The slip into Cockney almost gave Craig a laugh. "My sister has money as do some of the men. And where that money comes from is classified information."

Out in the common room, the cons heard the conversation and chuckled. Classified? Classified between all of them. Not the brass. Garrison was getting really good with the con.

In the office, Craig eyed the man in front of him. "Is there anything else, Sgt/Maj.?"

"No, Sir," said Rawlins, clearing wondering what kind of situation he had been put into.

"Dismissed," said Garrison.

The British non-com snapped a salute which Garrison returned with about as much enthusiasm as Actor's Heil Hitler salute. He looked back down at his paperwork and the man left the office. Garrison shook his head. Long war, really long war.

Casino glanced around at the others. "Anybody know what Terry left us for tonight?"

This brought a big smile from Actor. "I observed her cooking it before she left. Mushroom chicken. It should be easy enough for him to fix. All that must be done is place it in the oven and warm it up."

"That's good," said Chief. He had his doubts the Englishman could even manage to warm up food without killing it.

"She does take good care o' us," remarked Goniff. "I don't know why they think we need 'im to do it."

"It is the military," said Actor. "It does not have to make sense."

An hour later, the men had taken their places at the table. They waited impatiently for what they considered one of Terry's best dishes. The swinging door to the kitchen opened and the Sgt/Maj. backed into the room carrying two large covered bowls. He set them in the middle of the table with a smile and took Terry's seat, between Actor and Chief.

Even Garrison was frowning, looking at the two bowls. The aroma was not the one they were familiar with. The cons looked at their leader dubiously. Craig lifted the cover off the first bowl. Inside were soggy vegetables that did not seem to have any seasoning. He took the serving spoon and scooped some of the anemic vegetables onto his plate. Four pair of eyes stared at the offering, more than dubious now. They watched as Garrison removed the cover over the chicken. It was not crispy and brown, but looked as anemic as the vegetables. He peered into the bowl, as did the others.

"Where's the sauce?" asked Actor.

"Sauce?" asked the Sgt/Maj. "Oh, the substance the meat was in was greasy."

"Yeah," said Casino, pinning the man with glare. "Where is it?"

"I removed it and threw it out."

"You what!" roared the Italian. This was supposed to be his favorite dish and it bore no resemblance to the delicious meal Teresa made.

Chief was digging cautiously in the vegetable bowl. He let the limp potatoes, carrots, mushrooms and onion slop back in. "How did you heat this?" he asked.

"I put it in pots and boiled it," replied the Englishman defensively.

"Bloody 'ell," said Goniff angrily. The man may be a countryman, but this was . . .

"Sacrilegious! It is simply sacrilegious!"

"Sister, better get back real quick," grumbled Casino in disgust.

Garrison was inclined to agree with his men, but he had to at least try to keep the peace for the time being.

"Sgt/Major, maybe you could consult with Terry when she gets back on the proper way to heat her meals. I'm sure she would be delighted to help you," said Garrison. He slipped a fork of orange mushy vegetable into his mouth.

"My duties were specific in that I prepare the meals," said the Sgt/Maj., digging into his vegetables with something akin to gusto.

"Warden!"

Garrison raised his hand. "We'll discuss this when Terry gets back."

"This is a military base, not a bloomin' restaurant," muttered the Englishman, barely above a whisper.

"Did you say something, Sgt/Maj.?" asked Garrison amiably.

"Just talking to meself, Sir," said the man.

The discussion had to be put off. The next morning, Garrison was informed they had a mission. He could only hope they returned before his sister.


	2. Chapter 2

British Invasion

Chapter 2

The girl pulled the MG to a stop in the empty car park, shut the engine off and leaned back with a deep breath of tainted relief. The Packard was gone and that usually meant a mission. She tried to muster up the energy to get out of the vehicle. Two hours from London was a long way to drive with a clutch when she had a wound on her leg. It figured Actor wasn't around when she needed him.

Making herself move, she got out and limped up the steps. Terry opened the front door and walked inside. A glance in the empty common room and closed office door told her that the missing Packard did mean the men were gone, and the wound on her leg would have to wait for Actor to return. She turned her head back and barely stifled a start as she found a man standing by the corner to the dining room, watching her silently with a smile. He was as tall as Chief and thin to the point of skinny, wearing a crisply pressed British uniform complete with cap. The thin lipped smile was beneath a hawk's beak of a nose, small eyes and big ears. The switchblade had immediately dropped into her hand behind her.

"Who are you?" asked Terry cautiously.

"Sgt. Maj. Rawlins, Miss Teresa," the man replied cheerfully.

Terry's skepticism was rapidly turning to concern. Why was there a British non-con in the empty Mansion? "Uh, is there a problem here, Sgt. Major?" she asked slowly.

"Oh, no, Miss, no problem." The fellow was definitely cheerful.

"Then why are you here?" Terry persisted.

"I've been posted here," smiled Rawlins. "I'm here to be secretary to Leftenant Garrison, help in the training of the lads, keep the house running smoothly. . ."

Terry was now beyond worried. "Do I live here anymore?" It wasn't sounding like it.

"Oh, yes, Miss Teresa. I'm here to assist you also."

Assist me with what, wondered Terry. "When are the men due back, Sgt. Major?" she asked.

"Any time now, Miss."

Terry dropped her bag at the base of the stairs. "Then I had better get some food ready for them." She was stopped in her tracks.

"I've already done that Miss Terry," said the man proudly. "The Leftenant told me you make sandwiches for them: three apiece. They get milk in the afternoon and hot cocoa in the mornings. Oh, and you needn't worry, Miss, I have supper started also."

Terry's cheeks sucked in, "Then I guess I will go up to my room. It's still my room?" Right now she wasn't sure of anything. Obviously she had been replaced.

"Yes, Miss."

Terry picked up her bag.

"Would you like me to carry that up for you, Miss?" offered the Englishman.

"No thank you," she replied with a hint of defensiveness. "I am perfectly capable of carrying it."

"Yes, Miss." As she tried not to limp up the stairs, he added, "There is fresh linen on the bed. If you would like to take a nap, I can notify you when the lads return."

That was pushing it, thought Terry. "That won't be necessary," she replied.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Miss Teresa?" asked the man eagerly.

Yeah, get the hell outta my house, thought Terry. "No, Sgt. Major . . . Thank you." She had been raised to be polite.

Terry continued to her room and shut the door behind her . . . and locked it. The bag was tossed on the bed and she perched herself in the open window overlooking the drive to wait for her brother to return, hand lightly rubbing the dressing on her thigh through the trousers she was wearing..

GGG

When the Packard pulled into the car park, Terry was out the door and hopping down the stairs in a flash. Even so, the slight British Sgt/Maj.. was at the door ahead of her. She waited at the bottom of the stairs until the men came inside.

"Anybody hurt?" Terry asked, their welfare of more concern than the present situation.

"No," replied Craig.

The four cons watched her guardedly. That did not make Terry feel any more secure.

"There is lunch in the kitchen, Gentlemen," said the Sgt. Maj. perkily.

"Craig, you and I have to talk . . . NOW . . . in private."

Craig nodded in resignation. "My office. I had hoped we would get back before you."

"Sur-prise," replied Terry sarcastically.

The two moved into the office and shut the door. Craig hitched a hip up on a corner of the conference table while Terry faced off at him arms crossed in front of her.

"He speak French?" she asked.

Craig nodded, "And German."

"Lakota."

"Okay."

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded in Lakota, substituting English for the swear word that had no translation. "Are you trying to get rid of me again?"

"No!" said Craig adamantly in their brother's language. "It was the Brass' idea. Seeing as we have so much trouble with Schaeffer, they gave us a British helper."

"What's the matter? Don't I take good enough care of you guys?"

"Damn it, Terry, don't take it that way! It never had anything to do with you or how good you are to us." Garrison had known this was how she would react.

Casino had positioned himself outside the door while the other three men stood around the game table munching Spam sandwiches and watching.

"What are they sayin', Mate?" asked Goniff worriedly.

"I can't tell," replied Casino. "They're talkin' Injun again, except for the cussin'."

"We can hear that," said Actor drolly.

"I really don't think you lads should be listening to the Leftenant's conversation," said Rawlins, coming around the corner from the dining room, when he saw they were not there.

"Butt out!" said Casino harshly to him.

"What way should I take it?" asked Terry. "I come home, here's this guy and he's taken over everything I do. How am I supposed to take it?"

"Oh, hell! It's political. The army's trying to foster better relations between the Americans and the British."

"What? With us? We already have good relations with Major Richards now."

"Not just us. They put a British NCO in with each of the Special Forces teams."

"A spy?"

Craig shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know."

Terry shook her head. "Okay, so what am I supposed to do?"

Now Craig shook his head. "I don't know. Try to get along with him?"

Terry sat down in the chair and looked up at her brother in confusion. "Get along with him. Do the guys get along with him?"

"Not yet."

"Great."

They heard a commotion outside the office and stopped talking to listen.

"Gentlemen, the dining room table is meant for dining. You are dropping crumbs on the floor in here."

"Oh, bugger off, Mate."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh forget it," said the disgusted voice of their scout. "I'm goin' to bed."

"And what should I do with the sandwiches I was told to make for you?"

"You can just shove . . ."

"Casino . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, can it."

Terry was trying to stifle a laugh. Her brother was grinning.

"I didn't say it wasn't entertaining," said Garrison with amusement.

They listened to booted feet stomping up the stairs. Terry peeked out the door and watched the British NCO with hands full of partially eaten sandwiches hurry to the dining room before he dropped them. Terry grinned.

"Can you keep him busy in here for awhile?" she asked Garrison.

"I think so."

Terry walked toward the dining room. The Sgt/Maj. was muttering to himself about the ungrateful blokes. She watched him take the platter of sandwiches into the kitchen. After a moment to get her features in suitable serenity, the girl entered the kitchen. Rawlins looked up at her, in the midst of reaching for the towel to cover the sandwiches.

"Sgt/Major, Lt. Garrison wishes to speak with you," she said. "I can take care of that for you." She indicted the food.

"Oh, uh, thank you, Miss."

Terry waited until he had stepped past her and out the swinging door before she hurried to the butler's pantry and got cloth napkins. Quickly she divided the sandwiches between them and wrapped them up. The scraps of partially eaten sandwiches were in a pile on the table. Those were thrown on the platter and covered with the cloth before getting shoved into the refrigerator. She hoped if the Sgt/Maj. looked in the fridge he would assume they were the uneaten sandwiches.

Stacking the packets on her arm like a waitress, the girl scurried up the stairs before Craig had finished keeping the Brit occupied. She gave a light kick on the door to Chief's room.

"Yeah?"

"Open up," Terry hissed.

The door opened a crack and a grin crossed the Indian's face. He reached for a napkin covered packet.

"Thanks, Terr."

"Any time."

Next she went to Casino's room. This time with a free hand, she tapped at the door.

"Come in."

He was already in his bed when the girl entered. She dropped a napkin wrapped packet on his stomach.

"Thanks, Babe," he grinned at her.

She let herself out and went across the hall to Goniff's room. A tap on the door brought a "come in" from him also. He was down to his regulation underwear just about to climb into bed. He gladly accepted one packet of sandwiches from her and as she turned snatched a second one. The slight pickpocket was always hungry.

With one left, she went to Actor's door. This time she didn't bother to knock, but let herself silently in the confidence man's bedroom. Actor was clad in silk pajama bottoms, neatly folding the dirty clothing he had just removed.

"Sandwich?" asked Terry with a twinkle in her eyes.

The right side of his mouth twitched upward in a grin. "Delighted," he said.

She handed him the last bundle and scooped up the folded clothing, dumping them unceremoniously into the hamper. As she turned, Actor stepped in front of her. She looked up at him expectantly. He looked down at her and smiled. She rested a hand on his shoulder and stood on tip-toes to receive a kiss.

"Have a good sleep, _caro,"_ she said quietly.

He looked from her to the sandwiches. "I will now, _grazie cara_."

" _Non è niente."_

As she headed for his door, Actor noticed the slight limp. "Are you hurt?"

Terry stopped and nodded. "Later, after you've gotten some rest, I'd appreciate if you would take a look at it and redress it. It's upper inner left thigh and just where I would need a hand mirror to see it. Not enough hands." She turned her head and smiled cockily at him.

"All right," said Actor, relaxing a bit. "I will take care of it later."

"Thanks, _caro_ ," she smiled and let herself out of the bedroom.

Going back downstairs, the girl peeked into her brother's office. Craig looked up expectantly and made a face at her empty hands.

"Where's mine?" he asked indignantly.

"In Goniff's stomach most likely," she said, unrepentantly.

"Naturally."

"Want me to make you a couple?"

Garrison shook his head. "I'm going to bed. We're going to have to talk again later. There are some issues . . ."

"No kidding," said Terry. "By the way, this bloke isn't camped next to me, is he?"

Craig grinned insincerely. "No, but you're missing a storage room behind the kitchen."

"Terrific."

A couple hours later, Actor tapped lightly on the door to Teresa's bedroom and let himself in. She was propped up against the headboard reading a book. Looking up with a smile, she put her bookmark in place, closing the book and setting it aside.

"What did you do to yourself this time?" asked the con man, going into her bathroom for her aid kit.

"Bullet," she replied, standing up to remove her trousers.

Actor returned, eyeing the sloppy dressing wrapped around her left thigh very high up the leg. "Did Carter not take care to keep you from getting shot?"

"Wasn't Carter's fault," said Terry, lying back down on the bed. "We were trying to outrun some Jerries. Stupid thing really. I had jumped up to try to get over a wire fence. Lucky shot I guess. Carter got shot in the shoulder. He's in the hospital in London."

"Umm," was Actor's only response. The blond confidence man who had been his replacement when he had been imprisoned by the Jerries was not of concern to him.

He sat on the bed beside the girl, opened the aid kit and then began cutting the dressing away with scissors from the kit. He dropped pieces of bloody gauze in the waste can.

"Who dressed this for you? It's a terrible job," he said in disgust.

"I did," said Teresa with a humorous grin at the man's tone. "That's why I came to you. It's in an awkward place and I can't handle it well. Like I said, I need another set of hands."

A knock sounded at the door as Actor leaned over between Terry's raised knees to get a better look at the gash on her inner thigh.

"Who is it?" called out Terry.

"Sgt/Maj. Rawlins, Miss."

"Sgt/Maj. . . ." She never got to finish telling him to go way.

The door opened and the man's eyes turned to saucers. "'Ere now! You can't be doin' that in here!"

Actor turned his head and pinned the man with angry eyes. "This is none of your affair. Get out! Now! And close the door!"

The non-com scooted back and slammed the door shut. Actor shook his head and went back to inspecting the wound. "What did he think I was doing in here?" he muttered.

Terry chuckled. "I think he thought you were making me very happy, _caro."_

"I wouldn't mind," grumbled Actor, "but we both have more sense than to engage in that activity here."

"Better be careful," teased the girl. "The last time you got caught in a compromising position, you ended up in stir."

"I have all my clothes on this time," said the con man.

"Yeah, but I don't."

The Italian snorted. The two inch long gash had dried blood on it and crusty edges. "How old is this wound?"

"Three days."

Actor shook his head. "Too old to suture it. It will have to heal itself closed."

"Kinda what I figured."

Garrison thought he had heard some kind of ruckus upstairs, but his men were in the common room outside his office door. He looked up sharply as Rawlins flew into the office.

"Leftenant! I realize you are lax with discipline concerning the men, but this is too much!"

Craig had to work at keeping his countenance calm and the exasperation from his voice. "What is it, Sgt/Major?"

"I went up to ask Miss Teresa a question, Sir. She was lying on her bed in her knickers and that older man, Actor, was almost on top of her. This is not right, Leftenant, just not right."

Counting to ten to keep his temper, Garrison heard the laughter from the common room. He pushed his chair back and rose. Going to the door with the Englishman on his heels, he heard Casino's voice.

"Beautiful must be desperate to do it in the house."

"Knock it off, Casino!" ordered Garrison. He pointed a finger at the men. "And you stay down here. All of you."

Actor had just finished cleaning the wound and was getting the dressing ready to be applied when the door opened and Garrison entered, the Sgt./Maj. stepping around him. This was too much. The Italian turned to the non-com with a snarl.

"You will get out of this room right now! And if I ever catch you coming into the lady's bedroom without an invitation again, I will use you for target practice!"

Garrison crossed his arms and turned his head to look at the Englishman. He opened his mouth to order the man out, but before he could speak, his sister got there first.

"Rawlins! Out of my bedroom! Now! This room is off limits to you!" blasted the girl.

The Sgt/Maj. turned to Garrison for support. He saw the crossed arms and narrowed eyes. Turning, he stormed out. Craig stepped closer to the bed.

"Bullet or knife?" he asked casually.

"Bullet."

Craig bent around to inspect the wound on her thigh. Actor paused and watched the dubious look that crossed the lieutenant's face.

"How did you get shot there?" he asked his sister.

Terry rolled her eyes. "I was demonstrating my high kick for the Krauts. I don't know how I got shot there. I was on a fence."

Garrison looked at his second. "Can you suture that?" he asked, pretty sure of the answer.

"No," replied Actor, opening a packet of sulfa powder. "The wound is too old. We will have to change the dressing on it daily."

Garrison sat on the bed and held the gauze pad in place after Actor sprinkled the sulfa on the wound. He glanced at the plain cotton drawers his sister was wearing.

"Man must not have much experience with women," Craig remarked.

Actor paused in the midst of winding roller gauze around the leg and looked at Garrison with one raised eyebrow. He could not see how that man could have any experience with a woman.

Craig shook his head. "Those don't look anything like knickers."

Actor continued to wrap the leg. "It could have been worse," he observed. "She could have been wearing the silk ones."

"What silk ones?" said Garrison slowly with suspicion.

Terry answered that. "The silk ones he gave me a while back. The ones I don't wear."

Actor did not look up. "I have excellent taste in ladies' lingerie," he said without modesty. A finger gestured with disgust at the offending article of clothing. "And that in not appropriate when worn with a Christian Dior evening gown . . . or at any other time."

Garrison stared at him as his sister chuckled.

"You have to watch these European men," said Terry. "They are such snobs."

"Do you want me to keep changing this dressing for you?"

"Yes, Actor. Thank you, Actor."

Garrison rose, shaking his head. What had he done to deserve all this? Without a word, he headed for the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back.

"Actor, I would give you permission to fulfill your threat to the Sgt/Major, but it would probably put a large crimp in British/American relations."

The Italian grinned at him. "Alas, I fear you are correct in that, Warden."

Garrison went out and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Actor and Teresa to share a laugh. The laugh faded and Actor gave Teresa a frustrated look.

"Do you think you might feel up to cooking dinner tonight?" asked the con man.

"I suppose," said Terry, getting up and pulling her trousers on before anymore unwanted visitors entered. "What would you like?"

"Mushroom chicken."

Terry turned her head to give him a frown. "Didn't you have it last night?"

Actor sucked in his cheeks before answering. "We had chicken, mushrooms and vegetables. I don't believe the Sgt/Major knew how to reheat that dish."

"What . . .?"

Actor recounted the meal that had been served. Terry's eyes widened in anger.

"He boiled my mushroom chicken?" she exclaimed in disbelief.

Actor nodded. "The Warden suggested you might teach him how to reheat the meals you prepare for us."

"Teach him! I'd rather . . ." She paused and took a deep breath before calmly adding, "Craig told me to try to get along with him. I will try to teach him."

"Thank you, _cara._ "


	3. Chapter 3

British Invasion

Chapter 3

Terry entered the kitchen bound she would not strangle the British non-com. It was going to be hard. The first thing she saw was the man's skinny derriere sticking out of the refrigerator. Most of the food she had stored in the fridge was on the table in the middle of the kitchen.

"Sgt/Major ," she said, causing the man to rear up and hit his head on the upper edge of the refrigerator compartment. She stifled a smile.

"Yes, Miss Terersa." He rubbed the top of his head.

"What are you doing?"

"I am trying to find something to make for the lads' supper."

Terry's raised eyebrows tilted toward the pile of food on the table. "You have enough there for several meals."

Rawlins bobbed his head and looked at the food with disgust. "I can't cook with that, Miss."

"As the men have found out," she said. "If you will step aside and watch I will show you have to make a nice stew."

"But Miss," he objected, "that is Black Market and I can't cook for military men with Black Market goods."

Be nice. Get along with the man. "It is food, Sgt/Major. And we are not your typical military group."

"That's for bloody sure," he muttered in quiet indignation.

Terry had difficulty stifling a laugh. "Step aside," she repeated, moving forward and basically forcing him to step back. "There are vegetables in the garden, eggs in the hen house, and you do not butcher one of my chickens without my express permission. Now watch."

GGG

Warily, the men sat down at the dining room table and waited for the meal to be brought out. They had not heard any screaming or swearing from the kitchen, but that did not mean Terry had gotten her way about cooking for them. The kitchen door swung open and the Sgt/Maj. came through, bearing a large pot with a lid which he set in front of Garrison on a trivet. He was followed by the young woman with a basket of fresh, hot, American-style biscuits. The smells from the pot and the basket had the men's mouths watering. It smelled like Terry's cooking, but did it taste as good as it smelled.

"Did you make that, or did he?" asked Casino.

"We both did," replied the girl firmly,

She stepped behind the safecracker to sit in her chair between him and Actor. Her hand walloped Casino's head in passing.

"Hey!" objected the man, rubbing his head and giving her a dirty look.

Terry took her seat and looked expectantly at her brother. Craig had learned a long time ago the men acted like boys, fighting over the portions of food each got. Most of the time he just allowed them to squabble about it, but this time was different. He knew the men well enough by now to be certain if he let them help themselves, the Sgt/Maj. would end up with nothing. Standing, he removed the lid and dipped a ladle in, carefully pouring the stew into the first bowl. Smiles appeared around the table at sight of the meat and vegetables in the thick gravy that smelled of herbs from the garden. That first bowl was given to Rawlins who was sitting uncomfortably between Goniff and Actor. The next bowl was for himself. With a pleasant smile, Craig sat down and let the men have at it. Terry was on her own.

The men settled down to their meal with smiles this time. Rawlins sat with eyes on his bowl and concentrated on eating.

"This is better than last night," drawled Chief.

"This is quite delicious, Teresa," said Actor appreciatively.

"Thank you." She continued eating while accepting her due..

"So how is your leg?" asked Garrison, taking a bite of potato.

Terry gave a little shrug. "It hurts. At least the dressing is staying where it belongs and not around my ankle."

"Who shot you this time, Babe?"

"A jealous wife," deadpanned the girl. She cast her eyes to the right into Actor's glare.

Casino burst out with a loud laugh that did not help any. "Yeah, Sister, I can just see that one."

"'Ey, maybe she got lucky," chimed in Goniff.

"Oh, sure," tossed back the safecracker. "I'll believe that one when I see it."

"Well, maybe she's got a boyfriend over there," added the Englishman innocently.

"Sure, Goniff," grinned Terry.

Chief looked over at her. "So where were you this time? Belgium again?"

"France," replied the girl. "I can get shot someplace besides Belgium."

Rawlins had stopped eating and was staring at Terry in surprise. "You were shot, Miss?"

Terry nodded and smiled without humor. "Yes." She tilted her head toward the con man. "He was cleaning and dressing it. Not what you apparently thought he was doing."

"I'm sorry, Miss," apologized the man contritely.

"So you should be," replied Terry. "Wait until I say 'come in' before you barge in." She tempered it was a smile to the uncomfortable man.

GGG

The next morning wasn't much better. By the time Terry had arisen, breakfast had been made. She and the men headed for the kitchen, where they usually took breakfast, to find places set at the dining room table. A large covered bowl sat in the middle with a plate alongside that had seven slices of dry toast stacked on it. Teacups were at each place and a teapot was on the other side of the bowl. The men, including Garrison, warily took their seats. It was Chief who lifted the lid on the bowl, just enough to peer inside. The look on his face told the others whatever was in there wasn't good. He set the lid lightly back on the bowl.

Garrison picked up the teapot and began to pour, pausing at the transparent blackish liquid that ran into his cup. He set the pot down and picked up the cup, swirling the contents and sucking on a cheek.

The swinging door opened to emit a perky Sgt/Maj. "Good morning, Leftenant. Lads. Miss." He sat down in what was now his chair and turned a smiling face to meet the unhappy ones around the table.

"Sgt/Major," said Craig slowly and carefully. "We drink coffee for breakfast and keep a pot on the stove through the morning."

"Coffee, Sir?" asked the man in some confusion. "Coffee isn't good for you. That's for Yanks, Sir."

"We are Yanks in case yuh hadn't noticed," growled Casino.

"Well, yes." The non-com was not put off by the safecracker's surliness. "But this is England. And there isn't anything like a nice good cuppa to start the day."

Goniff had seen the color of the liquid Garrison had pour. "Mate, that isn't even a good cuppa."

"Well, there's rationing. We all have to make our sacrifices."

As nobody was using the teapot, Rawlins reached for it and poured himself a cup.

"And where might the sugar be?" asked Actor. "I cannot drink that without sugar and lemon."

The Sgt/Maj. looked at the con man with raised eyebrows. "'Ere now. There's rationing. And lemon? Lemons are not part of your rations."

Terry had a hand out to forestall any fiery answers to that from any of the men. "We have sugar. And I bring lemons home from the Fox. So there are lemons in the pantry."

"The Fox, Miss?" asked the man quizzically.

"I sometimes tend bar at the Blue Fox in Brandonshire. We have easy access to lemons." She neglected to mention Shiv got their lemons brought in from one of his contacts in Spain.

Garrison stood and removed the lid from the bowl containing a small dry heap of yellow lumpy substance. He spooned a little bit onto his plate. The other men hesitated. Powdered eggs were not entirely tasty as they were, but these looked as though they had been reconstituted with just water, no seasonings and definitely no milk. And for seven people, there was barely enough to go around.

"Did the chickens not lay eggs this morning?" asked Terry. "There are usually enough for eggs for everyone and some left over for cooking later."

"Yes, Miss, but these are army rations."

Five pair of eyes pinned themselves on their leader. Garrison had taken a bite and decided it was not palatable. He had never had powdered eggs that were this overcooked, dry and tasteless. Still, he tried to keep the peace.

"Sgt/Major, we have chickens for eggs and a Victory garden for vegetables. That is proper for our own use. Plus, Terry will sometimes exchange …" That was a better word than haggle. "…Excess vegetables for other goods with the people in Brandonshire. That too is acceptable on this base."

Terry had spooned a bit of egg on her plate. There was just enough for the equivalent of one egg per person. It was not enough to keep the men in good health. They needed more than this to start their day. They were all thin enough as it was. Shaking her head, she reached for a piece of toast. That was dry also and slightly burned. A glance around showed there was no butter.

"Where's the rest of the bread and the butter and jam?" she asked in annoyance.

Casino laughed. "Haven't you been payin' attention, Sister?"

Terry turned her head to look at him.

"It's bloody rations," said Goniff.

Terry pushed her chair back and rose without a word.

"I hope you're going to the kitchen," said her brother.

"Give me a little bit and I'll have breakfast ready," she said, walking past him.

"But . . . but . . . Leftenant?" sputtered Rawlins. "What about all this?"

A voice came from the kitchen. "It's all yours, Sgt/Major."

A half hour later, places were set at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee, bowl of sugar, the milk bottle, and a large plate of toast with butter and jam beside it. There were two skillets on the stove and bowls with eggs of various consistencies waiting to be cooked. Rawlins stood by the door and watched in disapproval.

"Come and get it!" hollered Terry in a way reminiscent of life on the ranch.

She totally ignored the Englishman and started pouring beaten eggs into one skillet. The other skillet got two eggs cracked into it. She hid a grin as the skinny man had to jump out of the way of the cons shoving through the swinging door into the kitchen. Garrison followed at a slower pace. Real scrambled eggs were spooned from the skillet onto plates that had been warming in the oven. These were set in front of Garrison, Chief, and Goniff. The fried eggs went to Casino. Terry cleaned the one skillet out, melted a bit of butter in it and poured more beaten eggs in. At the same time she cracked two eggs into the hot grease for herself. She nudged the British man aside and got a slice of cheese from the refrigerator. This went atop the solid mass of cooked beaten egg and the egg was folded over it.

"That's cheese," said Rawlins.

"Hey, he knows what cheese is," smirked Casino.

"It's cheese," said Garrison wearily. What a way to start the day.

Terry lifted the omelet out and put it on a plate that she set in front of Actor. The confidence man caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Thank you, _cara_ ," he said somewhat dramatically with a smile.

" _Prego, caro,"_ she replied, almost as dramatically.

Garrison stood as his sister put the remaining fried eggs on her plate. She glanced at him in question.

"Late start this morning," he said. "I'll eat in my office."

"In your office, Sir?"

"In my office, Sgt/Major," he said firmly.

GGG

The day did not improve any as it passed. The men were taken outside to practice on the makeshift firing range in the car park. Terry had parked herself on the couch in Garrison's office with the clothes basket and sewing kit beside her to get away from the noise. Craig was frowning over intelligence papers and a legal pad for taking notes. They could still hear the shooting and barely hear the Sgt/Maj.'s voice yelling at the men. Both attempted to ignore it.

A shot, bang and whine of a ricochet sounded almost simultaneously against the front wall of the house.

"Chief," remarked Terry.

Not a moment later, another shot and the sound of broken pieces falling down the same wall had both the Garrison's looking upward.

"Actor," said Craig matter-of-factly as he went back to his paperwork.

There was more yelling and eventually more shooting, though the house was no longer the target. A half hour later, the front door opened and the cons stomped into the common room, grumbling and arguing. They were followed by the British non-com who entered Garrison's office, waving the paper targets like banners. Garrison looked up, trying not to frown over the interruption.

"Leftenant Garrison," sputtered Rawlins. "How do these men go into combat and manage not to get themselves killed? If they shot a man like they shoot these targets, the poor bloke would have to slowly bleed to death!"

Craig took the papers from the man and held the first one up. They all had the name of the man they belonged to on them so he identified this one as Chief's. The black silhouette had several holes in it, with more holes scattered around the white outside and no two holes close together. Chief was their sharpshooter. It had to take concentration for him to make such a wide spread.

Rawlins shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting while Garrison studied the rest of the targets. The girl reclining on the couch made a strangled noise covered by a cough that sounded strangely like a laugh. The officer ignored her and contemplated the targets.

"I would say they need to work on their shooting more," said Garrison finally. He looked up and handed the papers back to the Englishman. "I think you should probably work with them at least a couple times a week. I'm sure you can teach them better technique."

"I don't know 'ow they got this far," muttered the man. He straightened as if remembering he was in front of an officer. "What would you like me to do with them next, Leftenant?"

Craig stifled an unmilitary-like answer to that. "This is a rest day for us. Tomorrow you can start with the obstacle course and the running track." He glanced down at the papers in front of him. "And in another hour, you can start typing these notes up."

The telephone rang, giving Garrison the excuse to flip a forefingered salute at the Englishman in dismissal. Rawlins clutched the paper targets, swiveled on his heel and walked out the door. Craig listened to the call and made a look of disgust before saying, 'Yes, Sir," and hanging up.

"Terrific," he said to his sister. "They're sending a courier over at four, to pick up these intelligence notes."

"How much more do you have to go through?" asked Terry.

He pointed to a stack of papers on the corner of his desk that was an inch thick. It was now eleven o'clock. Terry folded up the shirt she was working on and dropped it into the basket with the other clothes that needed to be mended.

"Guess I'll do this later," she said.

The girl got up and cleared space at the conference table while Garrison got up and went to the door. Terry took the stack and began dividing it into smaller stacks by language.

"Actor?" broached Garrison.

The confidence man looked up with a smug smile. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

Garrison shook his head, not about to reprimand the older man or any of the others for the prank they had pulled.

"I have a lot of intelligence that has to be processed by later this afternoon. Care to join us?"

"I would be delighted, Warden," smiled Actor, more sincerely. He rose, collected his pipe and coffee cup and followed the officer back into the office.

"Which batch would you like?" asked Garrison, knowing the answer.

"Italian, of course."

Terry looked sourly at her brother. "Why does he always get the Italian and I end up with the French?"

"Because your French is so perfect, Little One," answered the con man soothingly.

Terry gave him a dirty look. "Craig, he's using the voice on me. It isn't working, Actor."

Garrison chuckled. "He's doing the Italian because that is his mother tongue.

They took seats around the conference table, each taking a pad of paper, a pen and a stack of intelligence reports. Actor lit his pipe as he began to read, neither of which prevented him from hearing the young woman muttering.

"I never get to do the Italian. All I ever get is the French."

Garrison pinned his sister with a stern look. "If you don't want to do the French, then take the German and I'll do the French."

"I'll stick with the French."

An hour later, Rawlins entered the office to begin typing up the reports. Actor held a stack of papers out to him, never looking up from his reading. The Sgt/Maj. looked from the papers to the man with non-comprehension.

Addressing the Italian, he said, "Now I understand the Leftenant has clearance, and Miss Teresa has clearance, but you can't possibly have clearance."

Actor merely gave the man a withering look over his shoulder.

"I vetted him, Sgt/Major," said Garrison. Was everything with the man going to be a problem? "And he is very good with analysis."

"Here's some more," said Terry, handing a stack of papers to the man. "Besides, he speaks Italian better than the rest of us."

"Finally she acknowledges that," said Actor triumphantly.

"Will you two stop?" said Craig in amusement. He looked at the non-com. "If you have any trouble reading the handwriting, just ask."

Shaking his head in distress, the Sgt/Maj. went to the desk and put the first sheet of blank paper in the typewriter. Soon the machine gun snapping of the keys drowned out the barbs the confidence man was trading with the girl. Garrison was pleased they had finally found something the Englishman was good at.

The last page was typed up by 3:30 and the stack of papers was sealed in the courier envelope. The three at the table sat back in relief. Right hands were cramped, while necks and backs had developed kinks. At least it had ended well.

"I'm sorry, Leftenant, but I must report this," said Rawlins.

"Report what, Sgt/Major?" asked Craig figuring it could be any number of things.

"That a man with a felonious background and no clearance is looking at top secret papers," the Englishman replied as if that should be obvious.

Craig started to open his mouth when his shin was kicked by his sister. Terry turned in her chair to pin the man with a look of disgust.

"And just who would you like to report this to?" she asked calmly. "Col. Hammond is in charge of the intelligence transmissions we receive. He is fully aware Actor is doing analysis and appreciates his insight. As does Maj. Richards. You could go to Maj. Schaeffer, but Col. Hammond would override any objections he might have." She smiled. "Who will you report this to?"

Rawlins stared at her clearly at a loss for words.

Now the woman's temper started to show. "And let's get something else straight right now. Yes, these men have been on the wrong side of the law. They were and still are paying for their crimes, in prison before joining this group and over on the Continent now. If I ever hear you talking disparagingly about their backgrounds again, Sgt/Major Rawlins, I will not be polite."

Actor's hand on her shoulder made her relax back in her seat.

Rawlins looked at Garrison for support. It wasn't forthcoming.

"Sgt/Major, I would suggest you listen to her. We are not regular army. We do not function as regular army. And we are Yanks as you put it." Craig collected himself. "We appreciate that you are not used to our kind of team. We will try to help with your adjustment to our group. However, it would help you and us if you would pay attention to what is taught you and try to learn our ways in this group. We will be happy to assist you, but we will not change our routines to accommodate you. Your work this afternoon has been greatly appreciated. It would be a more valuable use of your talent to work in the office and leave the domestic chores to Terry."

"But, Leftenant . . ."

"Oh _porca madonna_ ," spat Terry in disgust and frustration.

She shrugged out from under the con man's hand and rose to storm from the office. They heard the front door slam.

Craig gave an inward sigh. "Sgt/Major that will be all for now. Dismissed."

Rawlins, still looking confused, snapped off a salute, pivoted on his heels and left the office. Garrison shook his head. He went over to his desk and opened the bottom drawer.

"Shut the door," he said to Actor.

The con man had been looking at the two drops left in his coffee cup and was wishing for something stronger. With a grin of anticipation, he went and carefully closed the door. Returning to his seat, he was greeted by Garrison with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses. The officer poured a double shot in each, handing one to the con man. They both took a healthy swig.

"If I remember correctly, that is swearing," he said.

"Yes. Very bad," replied Actor with a crooked grin. "And she did not learn that from me."

Garrison gave a short laugh.

Actor sobered. "Warden, is there anything that can be done about Rawlins?"

Garrison shook his head. "Just hope he gets used to us and we get used to him.

Actor's eyebrows rose showing his lack of confidence in that happening. "I am afraid it is going to be a long war . . ."


	4. Chapter 4

British Invasion

Chapter 4

Terry walked down the stairs to greet the men as they returned from the latest mission. As usual, Rawlins was there ahead of her so she stopped partway down. The men were quiet, faces unshaven, expressions tired and unhappy, even Garrison's. She frowned. The mission had to have gone badly.

"There are sandwiches in the dining room, Lads," chirped the Sgt/Maj..

"Aw can it," sneered Casino.

"Casino . . ." Garrison's admonishment came almost as an afterthought.

"I made the sandwiches," said Terry absently, attention on the door. When no one else entered she turned to her brother in concern.

"Where's Chief?"

"Army hospital in London," said Craig. "He caught one in the leg."

"How bad?" asked Terry. The last time he had caught a bullet in the leg it had nicked the bone.

"Not too bad," assured Garrison.

"Then why didn't he come back with you? I can't see him wanting to stay in that hospital after the last time." There was something else going on here.

"'E knew you wouldn't be here to take care of 'im, Love," explained Goniff.

Garrison looked at his sister wearily. "We didn't get what we were after, so we're going back in tonight. Tomorrow, they move the art with the microfilm out of Paris and on towards Berlin. We'll have to intercept it. You're coming with us."

"I'm Chief?" she asked dubiously.

"We need a wheelman," said Craig.

Terry had to think about that one. "Go eat, Guys, and get some rest."

Garrison stepped toward his sister with the intent of telling her more, but was interrupted by the British non-com.

"I don't understand," said Rawlins with a puzzled expression. "I could have looked after the young man."

Garrison turned in time to see Casino's mouth open. He caught the safecracker's eye and gave a silent firm shake of his head. Clearly unhappy, Casino refrained from telling the Limey he was the reason Chief had decided to stay in the hospital in London.

"Anybody else hurt?" Terry asked the men. A shake of his head from Actor told her they were all right. "Go eat," she repeated. As the men dragged themselves into the dining room, followed by Rawlins, she exchanged a look with her brother.

"You want to brief now?" asked Craig.

"No," said Terry. "You don't look any better than they do. Get a sandwich and brief me after you get some sleep. Just tell me is this a con or a hit and run, so I know what to wear?"

"Hit and run," said Garrison. "You can wear trousers. They catch us they'll shoot us as spies anyway. You might as well be comfortable."

He started off to get a sandwich before Goniff ate the rest. Sharp voices could be heard from the dining room. The Sgt/Maj. came around the corner and Garrison ignored him as he walked past. Troubled, Rawlins looked up at Terry.

"Just leave them alone right now," said Terry quietly, watching Craig's not quite so starched back disappear around the corner of the stairs.

"I don't understand this either, Miss," said Rawlins. "They came out and they are going back in tonight. They don't even get a ruddy day to rest?"

"Looks that way," said Terry, unhappy about that herself.

"It isn't right," said the man indignantly.

"No, it isn't," agreed Terry. She glanced at her watch. It was ten-thirty. "Wake me up at two," she told Rawlins.

"You want me to awaken you, Miss?" asked Rawlins in confusion.

"Yes," confirmed Terry. "And I will cook dinner today." That was said with firm certainty.

"Yes, Miss." He watched her back as she climbed the stairs, clearly unhappy.

GGGGG

Garrison glanced around the wooded area to make sure everybody was where they needed to be. The truck was angled across the dirt road, effectively blocking any vehicles that would come through. The hood was up, but the truck they were waiting for would not be at the right angle to see there was no one working on the engine. Terry was lying on the seat, out of sight, and hopefully not taking a nap. She had her Walther and a schmeisser with her. Casino and Goniff were in the trees on either side of the road, guns ready. Actor, in an SS major's uniform was standing by the back wheel of the truck. The mercurochrome painted dressing on his arm would pass anything except a close inspection. Garrison was in the woods, even with their truck but where he had a clear aim at the truck they were expecting. Now if the motorcycle escort would stop within close range, it should be a piece of cake to take out the riders and the driver of the truck and the officer that would be with them. Of course anything that should have been a piece of cake for them rarely was.

Ten minutes later, the chirping of the birds stilled and the sound of engines reached them. A few seconds later, the motorcycles and truck rounded the curve and slowed. The truck stopped as the motorcycles approached for a closer look. Actor's SS uniform could not be mistaken. The man was leaning on his right shoulder with the 'wounded' arm facing out.

As the motorcycles crept closer, Casino and Goniff jumped up on the running boards of the truck. Before the driver could register what was going on, Goniff's gun pointed at the major in the front seat got his attention while Casino cold cocked the driver with the butt of his pistol. One of the motorcyclists looked back in time to see that and gave a cry. Actor and Garrison opened fire, but the lead rider got one off first, making the red on Actor's dressing real. Terry was upright behind the wheel of her truck and firing at the riders. The major tried to shove his door into the Cockney, but Goniff was able to dispatch him first with a bullet to the head.

Garrison and Casino pushed the motorcycles into the trees and behind some bushes and dragged the bodies into the damp leaves under another bush. Goniff went around the front of the truck, shoved the truck driver over and climbed in behind the wheel. Terry slammed the hood down on her vehicle and tried to get a quick look at Actor's arm. The con man shook his head and urged her to get back in the truck.

Casino and Garrison went to the rear truck and yanked the unconscious driver out. They dragged him to the back of the vehicle and manhandled him over the tailgate. Casino climbed in after him, while Garrison got in the front with Goniff.

Terry had the engine started by the time Actor had climbed into the passenger side. Reaching down beside her, the girl picked up a turtle helmet and slapped it on her head, even though she did not bother to tuck her hair up first. From a distance nobody would notice she was a girl and up close they would be shooting. Putting the truck in gear, she started off in the lead. Goniff followed her.

It was two miles to the turnoff that led to their safe house. The trucks rumbled down the dirt road that wound through thick forest for another ten miles. A smaller track that barely accommodated the width of the trucks led off to the right and to the farmhouse. Parking the vehicles side by side, Terry and Actor climbed out and joined Garrison at the back of the other one. Goniff jogged back down the track to take up the watch.

"You know, Actor's hit," said Terry matter-of-factly to her brother. She turned and went to check out the house, schmeisser at the ready.

Her brother had that dog after a bone look on his face. He glanced at his second while reaching for the latch to let down the tailgate. "How bad?"

"It can wait," said the con man. He was more interested in making sure the microfilm they were after was there.

Casino jumped down as the tailgate was lowered and reached up to drag the unconscious driver out by his ankles, none too careful about letting the man's head hit the back of the truck on the way down. Garrison climbed into the back and used his knife to cut the rope around one of the picture crates. He tossed the rope to the safecracker to tie up their prisoner and moved deeper into the truck, searching until he found a smaller box, on which he used his knife to pry it open.

"Yuh remember the last time we did this, we come up empty," Casino reminded him pessimistically.

"Maybe we will be lucky this time," said Actor, sincerely hoping that would be the case.

Craig pulled a small painting out and felt around the back of the frame. This time his fingers found and pried out the precious microfilm. "Got it," he said triumphantly. He came back and jumped down.

Casino was tying up their prisoner. "Wadda yuh want I should do with Sleepin' Beauty here?" asked the safecracker.

"Drag him into the house," replied Garrison. "We'll let the resistance take care of him."

Garrison took one arm and Casino the other, dragging the man toward the house. Terry held the door open. The man was dumped unceremoniously on the floor where they could keep an eye on him. Casino started hunting through cupboard shelves for an aide kit while Actor took a seat at the table. Terry began unwrapping the dressing from his arm. An aide kit was placed beside her by the safecracker before he went outside to take up the watch with Goniff.

Garrison secured the microfilm and turned his attention to his second. Dressing removed, Terry was helping get the injured arm from the sleeve of the jacket. She slit the red stained material of the once white tunic with her blade and began cleansing the oozing wound with a gauze pad. Craig peered over her shoulder at the injury.

"You thought it needed to look more realistic?" he asked the Italian.

Actor shrugged his good shoulder. "You did a terrible makeup job, Warden."

"You're the one they call 'Actor', not me," said Garrison. "I don't wear makeup."

"Someday I will remedy that for you," assured Actor smugly. "I could probably turn you into a fairly acceptable woman."

"Oh, please, you two," objected Terry. "Besides, we already have a female version of him at home." She drew up some procaine and began injecting the jagged edges of the wound.

Actor managed not to flinch, keeping his mind on the conversation. "Ah, yes, there is the twin sister we've never seen. I think I would like to meet her sometime."

"No you wouldn't," said both Garrisons seriously and in unison.

Terry began stitching, wondering at the camaraderie of the two men. Actor was becoming more of a brother to Craig than their real brothers. She sincerely hoped never to find out the confidence man was somehow related to the Italian side of the Garrison family in Rome. By the time she was done bandaging the wound, the two men were deep in discussion of their escape route.

The girl quietly let herself out the door and allowed curiosity to take her to the back of the truck with the art pieces. She climbed inside and looked around. Though the back of the truck was not full, there were a good number of various sized picture crates. Idly, she picked up the small painting that had been home to the microfilm. It was a pastoral that did not look familiar to her. She put it back inside its crate.

Turning, she went to the box Craig had cut the rope from. Using her knife, she pried open the top of the box and reached inside to pull up a larger painting. It was an impressionist portrait of a semi-nude young woman brushing her hair. Terry stared in shock. Carefully, she rested it against some boxes by the tailgate and climbed out of the truck. With great care, she lifted the painting out and started toward the house.

The front door opened and Terry walked in. After shutting the door, she held the painting up in front of her. "Actor?"

Garrison watched the con man glance at the girl and away. His head snapped sharply back in what was a perfect double take.

"Is this a real Renoir?" asked Terry.

"Bring it here, _cara,_ " Actor said eagerly.

Garrison saw the man's eyes light up like they did over a woman or a really expensive antique. The con man used his good hand to bring the edge of the painting closer so he could study it.

"Oh yes," he breathed. "That is a Renoir."

Terry's eyes widened as she realized with certainty she held an almost priceless piece of artwork in her own two hands. Her eyes went to her brother.

Actor's eyes mimicked the girl's. "Warden, how many more paintings are in that truck?"

Garrison shook his head. "At least twenty."

"I didn't recognize the little one you must have found the microfilm in," said Terry. "You think the others are like this?"

Craig nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. They were on their way to Berlin."

"Oh, Craig," said Terry, "we can't let Hitler or Goering get these. We've taken artwork out before. Can we do it again? We've got to."

"I agree with her," said Actor, eyes drawn irresistibly to the painting. "It would be a shame to allow the Germans to get their hands on these."

"We can try," agreed Garrison.

Casino let himself back in the house just as the German on the floor was regaining consciousness. The man struggled against the ropes binding his wrists. The safecracker walked up to him and slugged him back to unconsciousness. He turned to the three at the table with his hands on his hips.

"I thought you guys were watchin' him," admonished the safecracker.

"We got distracted," said Garrison.

Casino stepped up beside Actor and looked critically at the painting. "Nice set of knockers," he said approvingly.

"Casino . . ." objected Terry in disgust.

Actor shook his head in equal disgust. "Clod can't even recognize fine artwork."

"Hey, watch it, Beautiful," shot back Casino.

"Have you ever heard of Renoir?" asked Actor as though speaking to a child.

Casino gave him a dirty look. "Yeah, he was a painter guy. So? Is that one of his?"

"Yes," replied Actor.

Casino nodded; face breaking into a wide grin. "How much you think you can get for her?"

"It goes to a museum," said Garrison firmly. "They all do." He turned to his sister. "Can you get it back in its box without damaging it?"

Now Terry gave him a dirty look. "I know how to be careful," she said.

"After my teaching you, you had better," muttered Actor.

Terry looked at Craig with a grin. "Man's ego knows no bounds."

"Would you like me to continue to teach you?" the con man tossed back at her.

"Just stating a fact, _caro,_ " she replied innocently, earning laughs from the other two men.

Actor followed her out to the truck and watched her put the painting back in its box. He sat on the tailgate to rest his arm and be in better light as Teresa carefully opened the rest of the crates, one by one, and took the paintings out for him to examine.

GGG

Darkness had descended when they left the safe house, taking both trucks. Garrison's reasoning was the Germans would be looking for one truck, not two. He drove the truck with the artwork and Actor riding shotgun. Casino drove the other truck with Goniff in the front and Terry in the back, out of sight. Amazingly, they did not hit any road blocks or checks on the short drive to the airstrip where they would meet up with a plane.

The pilot was not happy to learn of the extra weight and loading of the crates. The artwork was swiftly stowed inside by Garrison and his men and they took off flying low over the trees to miss being picked up on radar. Close to the coast, they gained altitude but continued to fly low over the Channel.

A message had been relayed to Major Richards and he met them at the field outside of London. The clouds in the sky were turning the pink of sunrise. Garrison handed him the microfilm and both men turned to watch the unloading of the plane. As the crates kept coming out, Richards shook his head.

"Scavenging?" he asked with his dry humor.

Actor had joined the two and smiled his patent smile. "We prefer to call it 'salvaging'," he said.

"What did you bring out this time?" asked Richards, remembering the last time they had come out with painting crates.

"One Renoir, a Van Eyck, a Manet, and various lesser paintings, still of good quality," said Actor, tone showing his regret they had to give it up.

"I'll call the curator at the National Gallery and they can put them in a safe place." A safe place pretty much meant a cave in Wales. The major looked at the dressing on the confidence man's arm. "You need a hospital?" he asked.

Actor shook his head. "It has been cleaned and stitched."

Terry heard what was said as she approached. "Hi Kevin," she greeted the major. "We should probably swing by the hospital though and pick up Chief. I would bet he's ready to leave."

Terry drove them to the hospital where Chief was more than ready to leave. While Garrison was helping him get dressed, Terry called the Mansion. She informed the Sgt/Maj. they would be arriving in about two hours and would like breakfast when they got there if he wouldn't mind. She was assured they would get breakfast.

Chief's leg was bandaged and he was walking with a cane, though it was obvious he didn't like it. They put him in the back seat with Casino and Goniff. Garrison drove with Terry in the middle and Actor on the outside. The girl kept glancing at Actor's arm and moving closer to her brother to give the Italian more room. Garrison was feeling cramped.

"You want to drive?" he asked Terry in annoyance.

"No," replied the girl. "I just don't want to bump his arm."

"You have done your usual excellent job suturing the wound, Teresa," he said. "It is fine. Relax."

Actor was the only one who saw Garrison jab the girl with his elbow to get her to move. The Italian had to smile. Siblings.

"How'd you get hit, Actor?" asked Chief from behind him.

"He didn't like my makeup job," said Garrison casually.

"Huh?"

There were chuckles from the front seat. Chief just shook his head. He put it down to them being rushed back in without enough sleep in between.

"Hey, do we have any time off?" the Indian asked.

Garrison looked in the rearview mirror at his injured scout. "You have a hot date? You aren't going back in anyway."

"Are we?" asked Casino warily.

"No," replied Garrison. "Maj. Richards said we can have at least 48 hours."

"That's mighty nice of him," said the safecracker sarcastically.

Goniff couldn't help himself. "Like the man said, relax Mate," He grinned brightly. "I'm sure Maggie at the Doves will 'ave time to squeeze you in."

Terry kept looking straight ahead to hide her grin.

"Pity, the man has to pay for his," the man beside her said under this breath just loud enough for Terry and Craig to hear.

That was too much and a laugh burst from the girl as Garrison and Actor exchanged looks of amusement.

"Whaddid he say?" demanded Casino.

Nothing worth repeating," assured Actor.


	5. Chapter 5

British Invasion

Chapter 5

Rawlins met them at the door as they trudged up the stone steps. He had a big smile on his face, but then he did that a lot; until the cons did something to him.

"I have breakfast on the table in the dining room for you," he said.

Casino shook his head. "I guess I don't care where it is as long as it's food."

The safecracker made a beeline for the dining room with Goniff on his heels. The others took their time, setting aside two kits and hanging up coats. Three of them watched to see if Chief needed help, not that the young man would accept any if offered. As they turned to go to the dining room, Casino and Goniff returned with disgust on their faces.

"Don't bother," said Casino. "He's still at it; a quarter cup of oatmeal and a quarter glass of milk . . . each."

"And?" asked Terry.

"And . . . nuthin'."

"No coffee or even a decent cuppa," added Goniff.

They all turned and headed for the stairs. Garrison noted to himself that Goniff wasn't eating. For the slight Englishman with a voracious appetite, it meant the food was horrible. Rawlins came around the corner another look of confusion on his face.

"Aren't you eating?" he asked. "Miss Teresa called and said you wanted breakfast."

"That ain't breakfast, Limey," shot back Casino from the middle of the stairs.

"Now that's just wasting food," objected the Englishman.

"It wouldn't be wasting food if you would feed them what they are used to eating, like I showed you," said Terry in frustration.

"I know what you said, Miss," said Rawlins, "but I still have me orders and that isn't rations."

The girl's patience had reached an end. "Sgt/Major . . ."

"Terry, drop it."

The girl turned to her brother. Green eyes clashed with blue/green hazel ones. Garrison gave her his best military glare. She shook her head and pounded up the stairs; the others making room for her to pass up the middle. They followed at a slower pace.

In her room, Terry took her clothes off, put on her gown and took the dirty clothing over to the hamper. Opening the lid, she stared in disbelief. It was empty, even her undergarments were gone. This was after she had told him not to do her laundry or touch her things. She threw the clothes hanging from her arm into the hamper with force, flipping the lid shut with a bang. Curious, she went to her armoire and opened it. All of her clothes had been washed and hung. Going to her dresser, her undergarments were neatly folded and stacked in the top drawer. She knew Craig was exhausted or she would have gone to his room to complain. Instead, she went to bed with the intention of addressing this with her brother when they both woke up.

GGG

Garrison awakened and rolled onto his back, stretching. He did not get up. The mattress was too comfortable after being propped against the bulkhead of the airplane. The angle of light across his floor from the slightly open window told him it was late afternoon. The events of their arrival at the mansion that morning replayed in his mind. He wondered what he could do to keep the British non-com busy with him and out of Terry's way. She was getting close to exploding, which would have suited him just fine, but unfortunately he was responsible for her too.

A light tap sounded at his door. It was starting already. "Who is it?" he called out.

"Your sister. Are you decent?"

"Pretty much," said Craig, sliding his legs out from under the covers and sitting on the edge of the bed. As tired as he had been, he had not changed into pajamas, but went to bed in his regulation undershorts; nothing his sister hadn't seen before. "Come on in."

The door opened and Terry, in trousers and blouse, came in and shut the door behind her. She pulled the desk chair around and straddled it, facing him. Her eyes scanned his attire or lack of attire.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was just laying here." He looked at her. "Breakfast?" he asked.

"That too," said the girl. "You know I told him not to touch my laundry or my things. . ."

Garrison nodded.

"He did my laundry. Even my underwear!"

"So?" asked Craig. "You do ours. We don't object."

"That's different," said Terry.

"How?"

"It just is," objected the girl. "Craig, he's in my underwear!"

"I doubt it would fit him," said her brother.

"Craig . . ."

"Did Actor really give you silk underwear?"

"Yes," she replied sullenly.

"Try wearing those. You might shock him to death."

"He'd ruin them. Not that I wear them anyway."

Garrison shook his head. Humor had not helped. "He has orders to do the household chores besides my paperwork. I would guess he's trained."

"Fine," snapped Terry. "He takes over everything I do and says he has orders to 'help' me. There's helping and doing it all. What do you expect me to do?"

"Try to ride it out," said Garrison. "Maybe he won't be here long."

"I wouldn't bank on that," she said in disgust. "Can't you at least get him out of my kitchen? You guys aren't getting near enough to eat, unless he allows me to cook."

"I know. I'll have a talk with him."

Neither of them thought that would accomplish much. And it didn't. Garrison took the non-com into his office and explained again how life was in the Mansion. Terry was used to taking care of the men. She fed them, using her own money, sometimes Garrison's and sometimes money the men had. It wasn't rations and they were supposed to eat rations. Terry was a woman and she did not appreciate a man handling her articles of clothing. His job was to do the chores and the laundry was part of the chores. The chickens and garden belonged to Terry. They were on the 'base' so they were his part of his duties. The men had a way of sneaking out of the Mansion to go for some libation and that was okay with Garrison. A shake of the head went with if Rawlins heard them leaving, he would stop them. It was his job to turn them into soldiers. Garrison told him flat out that was not his job.

The whole time Rawlins was in with Garrison, Terry was in the kitchen cooking. She had a roast she had thawed in her room, to keep Rawlins' hands off it, in the oven with fresh carrots and potatoes. She was just finishing putting together a large fresh salad with lettuce and vegetables from the garden and hard-boiled eggs, when the Sgt/Maj. walked in.

The cons knew what Terry was cooking and figured there would be a blow up when Rawlins got there. Chief was too handy with his knife so it was Casino and Actor who went to stand outside the swinging door in case they were needed.

"You're cooking?" asked the Sgt/Maj. in surprise.

"Yes," replied Terry shortly.

She finished mixing the salad dressing, studiously ignoring the man. That was until he took the hot pad and went to open the oven door.

"Oh no you don't!" said the girl angrily, turning to confront him. "You ruin my roast and I will hang you upside down from the top of the parapet. Put the pot holder down and get out of my kitchen! Now!"

Rawlins straighten and looked firmly back at her. "This isn't your kitchen," he said. "It belongs to the army. I am to do the cooking."

Terry picked up the butcher knife, not threatening him, but making it clear she had it. "Possession is in my hands right now so it is my kitchen. Get . . . out!"

"Now, Miss . . ."

Simultaneously, Terry raised her hand with the knife and the two cons pushed into the kitchen. Rawlins did not know where to look. The knife was being held menacingly and the two men wore dangerous expressions. The Sgt/Maj. took the lesser of the evils and bolted between the two men and out the door.

"Leftenant!"

"Craig!"

Casino wrestled the knife away from the girl. "Jeez, Terry."

"Settle down," said Actor. "That is not helping matters any."

Casino put the knife in the sink and watched Actor try to calm the woman down. "Teresa, you cannot threaten the man."

"Why not? You guys do," said the girl stubbornly. "He's driving me insane." She shook her head.

"Babe, right now that's a real short walk."

Terry turned her head to glare at the safecracker. "I still have two blades on me," she warned.

"Yeah, yeah, and you won't use them against us."

"Teresa, he is out of the kitchen. We will do the best we can to keep him from coming back in until after you are done cooking." Actor's voice was low, soothing and reasonable.

The girl looked up at the confidence man from under her eyebrows. "I hate when you use that voice," she said calmer.

"Ah, but it's working, isn't it?" Actor grinned.

"Yeah," Terry admitted.

"Hey," said the safecracker cheerfully, "After we eat, let him have his kitchen back. He can wash all the dishes. Chief probably ain't up to doin' it."

"Good idea," said Actor.

Casino came around the table to stand beside the taller Italian. With a smile, the girl stepped forward and threw an arm around them both giving each a hug.

"Thanks, Guys."

The swinging door opened and Garrison walked in. He was relieved in a sense that things had settled down. Terry stepped back and looked at her brother guiltily.

"Tell me you didn't really threaten him with a knife," said Garrison.

"It wasn't like Chiefy," said Casino. "She just aimed the butcher knife at him. Wasn't like pullin' her blade on him."

Craig shook his head and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. This was getting completely out of hand.

"I thought you were having a talk with him," said Terry accusingly.

"Didn't work," admitted the Lieutenant. "I don't think we are in the same army." He sniffed. "Roast smells good."

GGG

The 48 hours rest ended and Garrison and the men were sent in again, without Chief or Terry. A call came for Terry the next morning and she disappeared to parts unknown and with whom unknown. She apologized profusely to Chief for leaving him at the mercy of the Englishman.

The Indian wasn't too concerned. Garrison wasn't there to run interference for the Limey so Chief kept his knife out and open. Rawlins gave him a wide berth.

The meals were sub-standard as expected. When breakfast the next morning was the same miniscule portion of oatmeal that reminded Chief of the time he lived at the Indian school, he decided he had had enough. He pushed the bowl away and got up to limp into the kitchen with his cane. Opening the refrigerator door, he took three eggs from the bowl that was overflowing with them from Terry's chickens. Used to the girl keeping the fridge stocked with food for them, it was disgusting to see the shelves so devoid of anything edible. Chief pulled out the partial loaf of bread, the dish of butter, and the bottle of milk.

Closing the door of the refrigerator, he propped his cane against it and limped around getting coffee grounds, a cup and plate and silverware. Foregoing the wood part of the big stove, he turned the gas on and lit the burner. His longer arms easily lifted the cast iron skillet off its hook and set it on the burner. Ignoring rationing, Chief cut a large knob of butter and slapped it into the skillet. It sizzled nicely as it melted and spread out in the pan with an appetizing aroma. To this he cracked and added the three eggs. While they cooked he cut off a couple thick slices of bread.

The swinging door opened and Rawlins walked in. "What are you doing?" he demanded, eyes taking in all the food on the table.

"Makin' breakfast," said Chief. "Real breakfast."

"You can't . . ."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Huh?"

The switchblade dropped into his hand and snapped open with an audible click. He had no intentions of using the blade, but knew the English non-com didn't know that. Rawlins backed out of the kitchen and disappeared. A genuine smile came to the Indian's face. The eggs were placed on the plate and the two slices of bread went into the frying pan to brown on the little bit of leftover butter.

Chief sat down at the kitchen table with his breakfast and a full glass of milk. Now this was what breakfast was supposed to be like. The coffee pot was perking nicely which would give him enough to get through the rest of the morning. When he was done eating his put the dishes in the sink and left them. Cup of steaming real coffee in hand, the Indian took his cane and went out to the common room.

Rawlins came out of Garrison's office and skirted around the younger man.

"Don't touch that pot on the stove," warned Chief.

The Sgt/Maj. went into the kitchen and stared at the messy table and the dishes in the sink. He shook his head and started muttering to himself as he began to clean up.

GGG

The group returned the next day. They looked tired, but not defeated so things must have gone alright, thought Chief. He watched they look around in confusion.

"Where are the Sgt/Major and Terry?" asked Garrison.

"He's in the kitchen," said Chief.

"And Terry?"

Chief shrugged. "Don't know. She got a call the day after you left and she ain't come back yet." He looked at Garrison. "She didn't say where she was goin'. Never does."

Casino took off his jacket and hung it on the coat tree. "Thought maybe they had bumped each other off."

"Naw," drawled the Indian.

"An' you and Rawlins got along okay?" asked Goniff quizzically.

The other three men paused to hear the answer to that.

"I 'spose," said Chief. "I thought about takin' care of him myself. Know how tuh hide a body, but Terry isn't here and I woulda had tuh clean up the blood myself. Too much trouble."

Garrison managed not to cringe. Sometimes he couldn't tell when the Indian was serious or one of the rare times he joked around.

Casino did not help any. "You know there's an old outhouse in the far back corner behind the chicken house. . ."

"Uh huh."

Rawlins poked his head around the corner of the stairs. "Breakfast is on the table, Lads."

The four men looked at each other, trying to see what the others' reactions were.

Goniff shrugged. "I'm 'ungry enough to eat his lousy oatmeal."

The pickpocket led the way to the dining room with the others following at a slower pace. There were plates at each man's chair, a covered bowl in the center of the table, and a plate with at least a half loaf of toast slices. The half full quart mason jar of strawberry jam sat beside the toast with a spoon stuck in it. On the other side was the butter dish. The China pitcher of milk was on the other side of the bowl with a white cloth over the top.

"We don't have much milk," said the non-com. There's coffee on the stove. Ersatz."

"'Ey, Mate, is there sugar?"

"Yes," replied the Englishman slowly. "And saccharine tablets."

"Not in me coffee. Gotta be sugar."

"I'll bring it out with the coffeepot."

The skinny man hurried into the kitchen, the swinging door swinging in his wake. The four men looked at it in surprise. Garrison lifted the lid on the bowl to find real scrambled eggs. Things were getting better. He helped himself to a big spoon of the yellow stuff, not quite as fluffy as his sister's, but real none the less.

"Your little talk must have done some good," remarked Actor in a quiet voice to Garrison.

"No it didn't." Chief walked up still leaning on his cane. "I think it was my blade got his attention."

Garrison's fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "All right you guys, you all need to knock it off. You can't be aiming your guns and pulling knives on the man. That's all there is to it."

"Pity, it's so amusing to watch his face when we do."


	6. Chapter 6

British Invasion

Chapter 6

Terry returned from wherever she had gone with no explanation and no injuries. Garrison watched her. She was quiet . . . too quiet. The problems between her and Rawlins remained, but she kept her frustration bottled inside. Craig knew this wasn't a good thing with her, but they could not have the constant bickering between the two.

She took to working more evenings at the pub in Brandonshire. That did not bother Garrison as much as the increase in 'missions' she undertook with other groups besides theirs. He checked with Randy and found that she had only gone out with his group once in one month. She had disappeared five other times and refused to say where she went or for whom. At least she had not returned with an injury for a while.

The men continued to do what they could to make the British non-com's life miserable. The Sgt/ Maj. had become increasingly upset that the men could disappear without going past him to the front door, so Garrison told Rawlins about the cut bars in the upstairs common room that was the regular escape route for the men to sneak out to the Doves. The result was a kind of game for the men to see if they could escape without the Sgt/Maj. hearing the bars klink. Now that he knew their escape route, the man developed an uncanny way of knowing when they were about it and usually met them outside. In retaliation, the obstacle course took longer and longer to complete, as did running around the perimeter track. Craig was not too concerned because their frequency of missions had increased and they showed no decrease in their abilities.

GGGGG

Terry walked down the steps of the house, pausing to push bits of broken marble and cement out of the way with the toe of her boot. The close sound of loud gunfire did not faze her as the men shot at the paper targets of human upper body silhouettes. The young woman turned and surveyed the decorations on the porch and the roof. The five foot tall statue of Venus that stood on the right flank of the landing was now missing most of her right arm besides the head she had lost some time ago. Terry's eyes rose to count the squat little devilish faced figures that lined the roof, incongruous with the Mediterranean architecture of the building. One more gargoyle had lost his head, leaving three intact out of a dozen or more. She doubted the survivors would last more than a month.

The gunfire had ceased as the girl reached the bottom of the steps. Rawlins was taking notes on the groupings of holes on each of the targets to put in the report he was required to submit on the cons. The men were wandering back toward the house, so Terry waited at the base of the steps for them.

"You forgot an arm," she remarked sarcastically to Chief.

The Indian shrugged. "I'll get it next time."

Terry stood in front of Actor and looked up at the tall Italian. "You got something against gargoyles?" she asked with amusement.

"Nasty creatures," replied the confidence man with a theatrical shudder of his shoulders. "Evil."

This brought chuckles from the other men and a grin from Terry. "Superstitious?" she asked.

"No," said Actor seriously. "However, in mythology, gargoyles were . . ."

"Cor, blimey," interrupted Goniff. "'Ere 'e goes again."

Actor favored him with an indignant look.

"Hey," added Casino with a shake of his head. "At least it isn't one of the great beauties of the world," his voice with an accent that would have made Dracula proud and Julius Caesar cringe.

Rawlins ran up just then, waving the paper targets in front of him like newspapers with a brilliant headline. "'Ere now! You can't shoot your targets but you can destroy private property. Those statues belong to the family what owns this estate. If you can't stop destroying private property, maybe you need to spend some time in the stockade."

That was enough to push Terry over the edge. She stepped up to Chief and took the pistol from him. Before anyone could say anything, she swung around, raised the gun and calmly and precisely shot the heads off the remaining gargoyles.

"Ah, excellent shooting, my dear," said a grinning Actor with an overdone British accent he usually reserved for Chief's demolition of the statue.

The other three cons burst out laughing. Mouth clamped so tightly shut his lips were not even visible, Rawlins stormed up the steps into the Mansion.

Garrison had heard the shooting and the yelling, followed by a brief pause and then three more shots. He figured either Actor had shot the rest of the gargoyles out of spite or Chief had finally lost his temper and shot the Sgt/Maj. He sincerely hoped it was not the latter. The door burst open proving the non-com was alive and well, if perhaps on the verge of apoplexy.

"Leftenant! I must object! Those men refuse to shoot the targets, but they are destroying pieces of this house. When I suggested some time in the stockade would do them some good, Miss Teresa took Chief's gun and shot the rest of the gargoyles."

Oh, yes, that would really set Terry off. "Sgt/Maj., sending anyone to the stockade, or threatening to, is overstepping your bounds when I am here. And I would not recommend it when I am not here."

"But . . . but, Sir? Blimey, how am I supposed to keep them in line?" The non-con was clearly frazzled.

"You might ease up a little bit," suggested Garrison. Patiently repeating himself yet again he added, "These men are not regular army and cannot be treated the same as you treat your soldiers. They were chosen for this group because of their skills and because they do not act like regular soldiers. I will take the men now," he said, keeping the irritation from his voice with difficulty. "I'm sure you have other duties to attend to. That will be all."

Rawlins looked like he wanted to object further, but flashed a salute instead that was barely acknowledged. He turned on his heels and left the office. Garrison's eyes followed the man's back. Things had never gone smoothly before, but since the arrival of the British soldier, they had taken a decidedly downward turn. Pushing his chair back, Craig rose and went out the front door.

The men and his sister were at the bottom of the steps, laughing and joking around. Chief was the first to spot the lieutenant with the stern countenance on the landing.

"Uh oh," the Indian said quietly.

The others turned and looked up and watched the officer descend. Halfway down, Garrison turned and looked up at the headless gargoyles and the right side of the statue. "Having fun?" he asked with that quiet tone that said he was past the anger stage and not in a good way.

"'Ey, Warden," said Goniff. "The bloke was asking for it. They were just havin' some fun with him."

"Seems to me you four started the problem in the first place," said Garrison. "Since you seem to have so much energy, you can go do two laps around the course."

"Aw, come on, Warden!'

"Now, Casino!" replied Garrison with a sharp hard louder voice.

"If you insist," said Actor.

"I insist."

Terry turned to the others and smiled snottily. "See you boys later."

"Oh, you're going with them," added Garrison. He smiled when she jerked around to stare at him in disbelief. "You joined in the fun, so you pay the consequences too."

Garrison turned and went back up the stairs and into the house.

"Come on, Babe," said Casino, holding a hand out to her.

They trudged slowly through the tall wooden gate into the back area and headed unenthusiastically toward the start of the running trail.

"That was excellent shooting," Actor said to the girl. "Very precise for a heavy 9mm in your hand."

"Thanks,' she replied without enthusiasm. She didn't bother to tell him that at home on the ranch they all carried .45s.

"Hey!" said Casino brightly. "Why don't we set up a match between her and Geronimo? Probably get some good bets offa it."

"Only if you're the target," said Chief, giving him a dark look.

"Aw, lighten up, Injun," said Casino. "It was an idea."

"Not a good one," added Terry. At one time, Craig had told her with targets, she and the younger con would probably be pretty evenly matched. That wasn't something that needed to be shown, and she wasn't the kind of person to throw a competition to let the other guy win.

As they neared the start of the course, Chief broke into a jog that became a run. The other four watched him.

"Man, he does like to run," noted the safecracker.

"I, for one, do not," said Actor in distaste.

"We know that." Terry smiled in amusement.

"Still," sighed the Italian, "the sooner we start, the sooner we are done." With that, he broke into a trot.

The remaining three looked at each other. They followed at a jog. There was no sign of Actor or Chief by the time they had gone a third of the way around the trail. Casino stopped dead still and the other two almost bumped into him.

"Hey, there's nobody watchin' us," said the safecracker. "I say we cut through the woods and wait until Geronimo and Beautiful, go past, then come out and follow them. I figure we can do it twice and they won't know the difference."

"Good idea, Mate."

Casino looked at Terry to see her reaction. She studied him a moment.

"It's your idea, you lead."

Casino grinned, "You're fitting in with us real nice now."

"Don't push it," she warned drolly.

They moved through the woods and stopped close enough to the trail to see Chief coming, but still be able to hide. It would be a longer wait for Actor to show up.

"Cheating, Casino?"

All three gave a start as the con man came out from behind a nearby tree.

"And what are you doing?" asked Casino. "You can't outrun the Indian."

"Merely using my intelligence instead of my muscle. Sweating is so ungentlemanly."

"Cheatin'," nodded Goniff.

That garnered more chuckles.

"I would suggest we be quiet now," said Actor. "Chief should be coming along shortly. I have timed him before. I know how fast he runs."

They ducked behind bushes and trees and waited. Sure enough, Chief came jogging down the trail, not even hesitating as he ran past them. The four stepped out on the trail after he had disappeared around a bend and began jogging at a much slower pace. At the same spot they had stopped at before, the four of them cut off through the woods again and followed Chief again after he passed them. As they came to end of the course, where they had started from, the Indian was waiting for them.

"Wanna make a bet I don't tell the Warden you guys cut through the woods . . .twice?"

"You won't," said Terry confidently.

"Why's that?" asked the younger man curiously.

"Because if you do I'll let Rawlins fry the pork chops to shoe leather."

"You'd have to eat it too," parried Chief.

Terry shook her head. "I'm working the Fox tonight. I can always pick up something to eat there."

As it was, Rawlins had already fried the pork chops to dry hardness and stuck them in the oven to keep warm. Terry opted to eat at the Fox and left dealing with dinner to her brother.

GGG

Late that evening, Garrison caught Actor's eye and flicked his eyes upstairs toward his room. A barely perceptible nod answered that. It was at their midnight chat in Garrison's room where, over glasses of bourbon, Craig brought up a personal matter with the older man he had come to trust.

"I'm worried about Terry," said the officer.

In what regards?" asked Actor. He did not think there was anything wrong with the woman. She had been on several missions with whomever since that last time with the thigh wound and had not received any injury.

Craig frowned. "With Rawlins. I have never seen her take such an instant dislike to anyone, with the exception of Major Schaeffer."

"We all take exception to him." Now the con man understood. "I would assume she is feeling threatened."

"By Rawlins?" asked Garrison is surprise.

"Of course," replied Actor. He took a sip before continuing. "Remember, she returned with no warning of his presence to find he had taken over her perceived role of caregiver to all of us. She thought she was being pushed aside again."

"It wasn't us that did that," responded Craig. "And even after I explained the situation to her, she is still . . ."

"Defensive."

That was the word. She still felt betrayed and un-needed. Rawlins had taken over the kitchen, her chickens, her garden, and the men; as he had been ordered to. Being from a military family, she understood the orders and the changes being made to their routine, and she probably felt there was no recourse. He looked to the older man for answers.

"Any suggestions? She won't talk to me about it anymore."

Actor shook his head. "I am afraid it is something she and Rawlins are going to have to resolve themselves. It is as you have told her, they need to learn to get along for as long as the Sgt/Maj. is with us." He raised his eyebrows in question to the lieutenant. "Do you have any idea how long that will be?"

Garrison shook his head. "Not a clue, Actor. And it doesn't sound like something I can question the higher ups about, even Major Richards."

Actor took a deep breath and let it out in one of his long sighs. "And I suppose we are not helping the situation any."

A smile twitched the corners of Craig's mouth. He wasn't about to admit while he became exasperated at times with the men's baiting of the Sgt/Maj., he oft times took a bit of enjoyment in watching their antics. "Just so long as you don't give the man a heart attack or stroke, Actor."

"Not intentionally," replied the man with his wolfish grin.

GGG

It became obvious the next morning that Terry had not returned to the Mansion after her shift. Garrison wasn't worried . . . yet. The girl sometimes stayed at her flat if it had been a long or difficult night at the pub. When she did not return the next night, he assumed she had gone over to the Continent again.

A week later, they were given a mission that required Terry to be Actor's escort at a party of German officers. Craig looked at his phone with a frustrated expression before picking it up and calling the Fox. Kit answered.

"Is my sister there?" he asked without preliminary.

"Which one you want, Craig," asked Kit. "They're both here."

"The middle brat," replied Garrison. He heard the flame-haired girl call to Terry.

"Mission?" was all the middle sister asked.

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, be there in a bit."

The mission went smoothly for once. Garrison kept an eye on the girl. She smiled and joked with the men and teased Actor mercilessly which the older man took with good humor. Maybe things were okay. She stayed at the Mansion and watched them leave on the next mission, two days later.

GGG

A courier brought raw intel the next day with a rush order on it. Naturally one section of G-2 did not know what the other section of G-2 was up to. So with a cup of coffee from the pot Terry left on the hob with strict orders to the Englishman not to touch it, she sat down at Craig's desk with his pack of cigarettes and her caffeine and began reading and taking notes. Four hours later, she stretched and turned the chair to the right. Putting paper in the typewriter, she began typing her report.

The sound of the keys clacking brought the British non-com in a hurry. "Now Miss Teresa, the typing is my duty. You leave that and I will finish it promptly."

Terry's fingers stopped and her mouth puckered in frustration. She turned her head slowly to look at the man she swore had been put in this earth of make her miserable.

The girl's voice was low and firm. "Sgt/Maj. Rawlins, I have been typing reports here and at the War Department in Washington DC for the past couple years now. I am not only capable, I am good at it. You have plenty of my other chores you can do. I intend to type my own report. Understand?"

"No, Miss," he said back just as firmly. "The office work is definitely my duty and I will do it."

Terry chewed on her cheek in silence. A hand reached out to snub out the half smoked cigarette that was resting in the ashtray. Without a word, she rose and walked to the door. There she paused and looked back.

"The courier will be back in an hour. It's your responsibility now."

She turned and walked away.

Rawlins was too busy trying to finish the report in time for the courier to pay much attention to the bumping and scraping noises on the stairs. He had just finished sealing the envelope when the courier arrived. The Sgt/Maj. had to skirt around some boxes stacked by the door to answer the knocker. He handed the envelope to the courier and after closing the door, eyed the boxes in curiosity.

Terry came down the steps just then with a fourth box. "Excuse me." She pushed around the man and juggled the box on one arm while she opened the front door.

Rawlins watched her take the boxes one at a time down to the MG. She had put the soft top back and was securing the boxes in the back and on the passenger front seat. When he tried to help her carry them, she had almost snapped his head off with a "no."

"Can I tell the Lieutenant where you are going?" he asked worriedly.

"No," she shot back from the driver's side of the sports car.

Without anything further, Terry got in and started the car up, driving slowly down the drive to keep from losing the boxes. Rawlins closed the door, turned and ran up the stairs. He stopped in the open doorway to the girl's room and stared. The bed was bare to the mattress. Cautiously, the non-com walked in and opened the armoire. It was empty, as were the dresser drawers.

"Oh, bloody 'ell!" he breathed.


	7. Chapter 7

British Invasion

Chapter 7

Rawlins took the seat indicated by Major Richards and sat with his eyes down, eyebrows together and folded hat on his knee. Richards had assumed there would be trouble with his assignment, but a request for transfer had not been expected.

"Sgt. Maj. Rawlins, you indicated in your transfer request that there is an overall incompatibility with the group you were assigned to. I would like you to give me the specifics." Richards sat back in his chair and watched the NCO.

"Well, Sir," began Rawlins, "I have me orders and they tell me I can't follow them. I tried to keep them on the Army's rations and all they'll eat is what they buy from the Black Market and the garden and hens that were Miss Garrison's."

"What do you mean 'were' Miss Garrison's?" The major leaned forward, picking up on and not liking the sounds of this.

"Well, Sir," said Rawlins hesitantly, "she's gone, Sir."

"Gone where?" asked Richards beginning to be concerned. Leaving on missions was normal for the girl. Simply 'gone' had an ominous sound to it.

"I don't know, Sir. She wouldn't tell me. She packed all her belongings, loaded up her car, and drove off." He looked up with apprehension. "I don't know wot Leftenant Garrison is going to say when he gets back."

"I assume he does not know about this?"

"No, Sir."

Richards paused a moment to collect the thoughts that were running through his mind. "Do you have any idea why she left?"

"We just couldn't seem to get along, Sir. I have me orders and they are to help Leftenant Garrison with his office work and take care of the household chores . . . cleaning, cooking and the like. I was supposed to be helping her. She said I was forcing her out. I'd cook, the men wouldn't eat it, and she'd go in and cook some of that Black Market food for them. They were wasting food. She didn't want me to do her laundry when I did the men's. And she seemed to take offense when I kept the garden weeded and took care of the chickens. I do know how, Sir."

"What problems were you having with the men?" the commando officer probed. There had to be more to this.

"Well, they didn't want to follow orders. They was always sneakin' off to the bar. I tried to stop them. They wouldn't pay any attention."

"Garrison allows them to 'sneak off to the bar'. Did he not tell you that?"

"Well, yes Sir, he did. But that's not how soldiers ought to behave. I thought it was me duty to try to turn them into real soldiers." Rawlins was clearly confused as why they didn't think so.

"They aren't regular soldiers, Sgt/Maj. Did you discuss this with Lt. Garrison?"

"Yes, Sir. He said the same thing. But I have me orders."

Major Richards wasn't sure if it was Garrison's group or Rawlins who gave him the biggest headache. The best he could do right now was to try to salvage the situation.

"Sgt/Major, this group is the original prototype for some of our other Special Forces groups. They are not regular soldiers and cannot always be treated as such. Your job is to foster relations with the Americans, not try to turn them into British soldiers. You need to follow Lt. Garrison's orders and not necessarily the ones you were given from the British Army." The man still looked troubled. "Is there more?"

"Well, Sir. I don't really feel safe with the men, Sir," he admitted.

"And why is that?"

"They've aimed their guns at me more'n once. And Miss Terry threatened me with a butcher knife."

Unfortunately, Richards could easily see that happening. "And what did Lt. Garrison do?"

"Oh, he put a stop to it, Sir," said Rawlins. "And he put Miss Terry in her place too, Sir."

So they had been forced to stop their actions, but the non-com had not stopped his. And somehow he had managed to do what others had tried and failed. He had forced Terry from the Mansion and, as protective as the men and girl were with each other, that was not going to go over at all well. He was relieved Garrison had managed to control his men and his sister, but this may have put a crimp in things.

"Request denied, Sgt/Major Rawlins. You will return to the base and try to adjust to their differences. And if that adjustment is in opposition to the orders you were given, then I am giving you orders to do what is necessary to get along with the Americans. That is the whole point of this."

"Yes, Sir." The non-com did not look happier than when he had entered the office.

Richards figured he would be having a conversation with Lt. Garrison as soon as they returned from their mission.

GGGGG

The men returned from their mission, tired, scruffy and glad to be back at the Mansion. The missing MG dampened that. But maybe she would be back soon without injuries. The Sgt/Maj. was waiting by the door when they entered, an expression of guilt and worry on his face. Garrison did not take that as a good sign.

Garrison looked at Rawlins and asked, "Do you know where Terry is?"

"No, Sir," the Englishman replied. "She packed up her belongings and left three days ago."

Garrison's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean she packed her belongings?"

"She put all of her things in boxes in her car and left."

Goniff was the first to take the stairs at a run with Casino right behind him. Even Actor went up swifter than his usual two steps at a time. Chief stayed down below and watched the Lieutenant and the Sgt/Maj. from a slight distance. It was obvious Garrison was trying to keep his temper in control.

The three men appeared at the top of the stairs.

"She's gone," confirmed Casino. "The room's stripped."

Actor glared sternly at the non-com. "Did you clean out her room?"

"No," denied the man. "She even took the sheets off the bed."

"What did you do to her this time!" demanded Goniff, uncharacteristically angry.

"Nothing! I didn't do nothing!" denied the man defensively.

The four cons looked at Garrison.

"That will be all, Sgt/Major," he said, happy his voice did not hold the anger he was feeling.

The man gave a quick salute and fled to the kitchen.

Now it was Actor's turn. "You are just going to let him get away with this?" he demanded in outrage.

"No," replied Garrison. "I'm going to get some sleep and then I will deal with it. I want his side and Terry's. If I can find her."

Foregoing a snack that had not been prepared, the five men trudged upstairs to their rooms.

When his sister did not contact him by the next evening, Craig decided he would have to hunt her down. Kit, at the Fox, said the girl had not been there in several days. That left their younger sister. Sitting at his desk in the office, door closed, he dialed Terry's flat.

"Do you know where your sister is?" asked Craig.

"Yes and no," answered Christine hesitantly. "She moved back in the flat with me. Where she is now, I don't know. We made a pact a long time ago that we don't tell the other one where we are going and who we are going in with. It's supposed to keep us worrying too much about each other. Doesn't really work."

"So she's over on the Continent?" asked Craig.

"I assume so," said Chris.

Garrison frowned. "Do you know what happened?"

Christine sighed and sat down on a dining room chair. "She reached the end of her rope with Rawlins. "She couldn't keep him out of her kitchen, the garden, the chickens, the chores she does for you and the guys, the typing of her reports this time . . . want me to continue?"

"No," said Craig, wearily.

He seemed to be able to deal with the man without too much exasperation. He knew Terry could not. Even so, Craig had never expected the girl to leave. All he could do now was wait to see if she showed up or contacted him or Christine. It was going to be a long, long war.


End file.
